


Captivated

by QueenDollopHead



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Captivity, F/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 07:56:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenDollopHead/pseuds/QueenDollopHead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There aren't many situations that Gwaine can't talk himself out of, but sometimes he finds himself tongue-tied.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captivated

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a Christmas gift for my friend Madi; Morgwaine is her guilty pleasure, and I hope it's yours too. Guilt optional.

His eyes, weighed down with exhaustion, suddenly snapped open when the metal door to his cell slammed shut. He was expecting it was time for him to eat again, so he was unpleasantly taken aback by the sight of his captor grinning at him. “Whatever you have planned it isn’t going to work,” Gwaine struggled against his restraints to no avail. Even if he was strong enough to break through the chains and hand-cuffs that suspended him from the ceiling, his bindings were enchanted and excessive struggling was met with severe punishment. His arms ached from the long hours he spent bound in this pen; he was lifted just so that his toes barely kissed the ground and it was not nearly enough to support his body weight. He feared that if he stayed there any longer, his arms may be pulled straight from their sockets... or perhaps stretch longer than his legs.

A sinister cackle cut through him like a fine sword, Gwaine halted his struggling so as to prevent bringing the raven haired witch before any more merriment from his pain. “You truly have no idea, do you?”

“You won’t get anything from me, Morgana,” he spat.

“On the contrary,” the witch circled her captive. “You’re going to give me _exactly_ what I want,” she studied his features as he tried to keep up his bravado through his evident pain and fear. “Oh, I’m sorry, are you uncomfortable?” she asked as she stood before him once again. “Here, let me help you.” Her eyes lit as she muttered an incantation and suddenly the chains suspending him slackened, allowing Gwaine to stretch his aching arms crack his back. He allowed his eyes to roll back, jaw dropping open as a considerable amount of tension left his body. With that stiffness eased, his rage bubbled back up into his chest.

“I do not _want_ your help!” he ground out through clenched teeth. Like a provoked animal, Gwaine lunged forward her, forgetting that his hands were still restrained. He realized his mistake soon enough as the chains jerked him back, electricity surging through his body. A pained yell was ripped from his throat and his body shook with the force. Morgana grinned in wicked amusement as he went slack in his bonds. Sweat dripped down his face, landing on the ground before him as he fought to contain himself. He glared at her with the utmost hatred, bare chest stuttering with each deep breath he forced. Voice lost somewhere beneath his anger, all he could muster was a predatory growl.

Unfortunately for Gwaine, Morgana was unmoved by his desperate attempt to appear intimidating. "You really need to relax a little," Morgana drawled, leaning in close to him.

She placed a hand just below his shoulder, then retracted it quickly in mock surprise. "Sir Gwaine! Why, you're burning up! Here, this should cool you down."

Gwaine refused to break eye contact, searching her for a weakness that he knew wasn't there.  She crossed her own blood, her entire kingdom for her own selfish desire, nothing was important to her, and that was the advantage she held over him, well… one of many. Cold metal pressing against his abdomen broke him from his thoughts, he gasped at the contact and he threw his head back. The cool metal was not entirely unwanted; in fact it even felt _good_ , but the promise of what Morgana intended to do with it worried him. She could either end him now or try to torture information out of him. Right now, she was intent on demonstrating just how long the blade was, dragging the wide side across his stomach, his taut muscles twitching beneath its purposeful movements. "For someone who talks so much, you're being awfully quiet," she teased, the tilted the knife so the curved back end glided over his sweat slicked skin. "So tell me, where were Arthur and the knights heading?"

"I am loyal to my king, something you certainly wouldn't understa- _ah_!" he cried out as the sharp end of the blade peeled apart the sensitive skin like a hot knife through butter. A thin, angry red line of blood was left behind on his abdomen. Morgana raised the blade in front of his face, showing him his own blood that was left behind.

"I'm sorry; I believe I asked you a question,” she drew the blade close to her, examining it as she spoke. She ran her deceivingly delicate-looking finer along the side of it, coating her finger in his blood, she then reached up and smeared a line of it on his cheek. “This is a very fine dagger, you know,” her attention turned back to her knife, she switched hands and brought her forefinger to the tip. Demonstratively she lightly touched the sharp edge of the blade and watched as her soft white skin split effortlessly at first contact. Through half-lidded eyes Gwaine watched her with interest, inexplicably fixated on her meticulous movements. Catching his stare, Morgana let the blade rest at her side and smeared his opposite cheek with her own blood. “Now why don’t you be a gentleman and tell me what you know.”

Gwaine flipped his matted-down hair from his face; ever the charmer, he grinned at the smaller woman. “I know that you are suffering from a shortage of candles, it’s rather dark in here for this early in the evening.” Morgana, for the first time since entering, appeared less than amused. Instead of dragging the blade along his stomach, she placed the sharp end flush against it and _pressed_. Gwaine grunted his discomfort and tried to pull away from the weapon only for her to persist and create a new mark. “You’re wasting your time _my lady_ , why not just kill me?”

Morgana halted her assault on his skin. “Why would I? It’s hard to bargain without a token… and you _Sir Gwaine_ ,” her tone matched the dripping sarcasm of her captive’s voice. “Are as close to gold as I could get,” she spoke with such confidence, voice leveled with venom and an uncanny smoothness. Bloodied fingers gripped his chin, forcing his eyes to remain locked on hers. Gwaine tried not to look, knowing that her eyes alone could often do more damage than his sword, but found himself unable to look away. “Now, you’re going to be a good boy, and _speak_.”

“As a Knight of Camelot it is my duty to-”

“ _Enough!!_ ”  Morgana brought the knife up to his throat with unfathomable quickness. Gwaine swallowed hard, accidentally nicking his Adam’s apple on the blade in the process. Both of them were panting heavily, Morgana out of frustration and Gwaine from exhaustion and anger. Realization flashed across Morgana’s features as she straightened herself rightly, stepping into the zone of resentment that radiated off of her imprisoned knight in waves. “If you’re not going to tell me anything useful…” the woman’s words lifted a burden from Gwaine’s shoulders. He realized that she was not going to try and torture him any longer, and was also contented with the fact that she planned to keep him alive, at least for the moment. “There are better things that you can be doing with your mouth,” her velvet voice struck him before her words did, and before he could retort, red, soft lips closed in on his dry, chapped ones. Reason escaped him; all he could focus on was the alluring scent of his captor and the dizziness in his head. His tense muscles went slack once more as his body responded to the woman’s passion. Somewhere out of the blue a desperate force erupted in him and he returned the kiss with fervor, forcing open those taunting lips with his tongue and starting an interrogation of his own. The soft clink of metal falling to the floor barely registered to his buzzing ears, all senses skewed but his sense of _heat_.

Hand freed of the forgotten blade, Morgana tangled her fingers in long, wet locks, pulling their faces even closer together. The hand previously holding his chin reached up behind Gwaine’s head and with a small -click- his bound wrists were free of the chain that linked him to the ceiling. Without individual control of his hands he did the only thing that his body knew to do; he slipped his confined arms over the woman’s head and pulled her small frame flush against his chiseled chest. The hand that freed him fell to his shoulder and then slowly slid downward, coming to rest on the wounds she had just recently inflicted. Gwaine hummed huskily into the kiss as Morgana’s curious fingers traced the lines she created and her tongue stroked Gwaine’s own.

Through this the two gasped frequently for air and desperately closed any space that they could find between them. Still not done traveling, Morgana’s hand came to rest on the waist of Gwaine’s pants before slowly cascading downward and palming him through the thin layer of clothing. Breath catching from surprise, Gwaine broke the kiss, instead resting his forehead on hers. He felt increasingly dizzy as he willed his eyes open, only to see Morgana breathing heavily with him, returning his gaze with intensity. She gnawed on her lip, wanting to resume their tangle but enjoying his expressions too much. The hand in his hair fell gently onto his shoulder, fingernails digging into his sleek skin as her opposite hand rubbed his growing erection. Gwaine did not give her option to continue watching him as he dipped his head into the curve of her neck. His tongue ventured out to play, licking and kissing his way down her neck.

In this moment Gwaine noted how different her voice sounded; although she was not speaking any words, her moans were considerably higher pitched as he teased her tender flesh. Finding a particularly sensitive spot, he sucked and nibbled the pale flesh, hearing an entire world of new sounds erupt from the throat of his captor. The sound went straight to where Morgana’s efforts were focused, and when he daringly bit down on her neck, Morgana cried out and replied by squeezing his manhood through the cloth. Gwaine’s head rolled back as he arched into her small hand.

All at once the hand disappeared from his crotch and the figure between his arms and his chest disappeared, leaving him on his knees on the cold ground of the cell. He looked up from his current view of the bulge in his pants to see Morgana standing a few feet in front of him, looking a little disheveled but still radiating cockiness. The rage within him reignited at the sight and he bit back the urge to lunge at her. “What spell did you cast on me!?” he snarled at the witch.

Morgana grinned at the accusation; she walked over to the cell door. “I did not cast a single spell,” she admitted, easing the door open. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

In that moment Gwaine realized that the witch was telling the truth, he had come to know what magic felt like and _that_ most certainly was not magic. He never registered the sound of the cell door slamming shut, but when he looked up moments later Morgana was gone. Grunting in exasperation he fell sideways onto the ground and then rolled onto his back, covering his face with his bound hands. _Sir Gwaine, Knight of Camelot… and **still** finding trouble wherever I go._


End file.
